Next stop, 66th Street and Lincoln Center, bellowed the cracked voice of the conductor over the loudspeaker. Those words rang in my ear like the notes of a familiar melody. Stepping off the number three train, I was immediately immersed in the scents, sounds and faces of my past.
All the wonderful memories of those four years came rushing back into my mind as if they had just occurred. I was finally returning to my birthplace, my home, my origin; my Fordham University. When I arrived at the campus the first person I saw was my former acting nstructor, the great Larry Sacharow.Just seeing him set me awestruck with happiness; it was in his class that my career really took off.
Professor Sacharow, I shouted, over the hustle and bustle of the crowded city sidewalk. We finally caught up to each other and exchanged blissful remarks. We spoke of all the wonderful things which have been happening since I successfully completed his class in my sophomore year and how I was offered a spot in Les Miserables and how the references and contacts he gave me opened countless windows of opportunity.One of his references led me back to my high school where I am now teaching a college theatre preparatory course for the 12th grade.
He was ecstatic! I couldnt express to him enough how much I enjoyed his class and all the lectures and theatre games we played. It is those little things that I remember most. After our joyful trip down memory lane, Professor Sacharow (who preferred me to call him Larry which I just couldnt do out of plain respect) led me into the lobby of the residence hall where a mural of myself hung on the east wall.I remember the day the niversity dedicated that lobby to me for my outstanding achievement.
My friends and I had led a fund rally for the school to raise money for the many programs which would be affected by the enormous tax hike in the fall of 99. We eventually raised over five million dollars for the university and prevented the cutting of many of the schools fine programs. My fellow thespians, Susan, Richard and the rest of the Theater Acting III class, told the President of what I had organized and how successful it had been. The marvelous mural and dedication was a token of the universitys gratitude.
I was brought to tears. I felt that this wasnt only the work of myself, but of everyone who had participated. I didnt deserve such an esteemed honor. To give credit to all of my friends, I had each and every one of them sign their name at the bottom of the mural in bright red oil-paint under a message which read, This achievement was not won by the strength of one person, rather it was won by the mass of an unrelenting army.
The day seemed to pass by in a nanosecond. After leaving Professor Sacharow, I proceeded back to the subway to catch the number three back uptown to y friends apartment.Waiting on the platform I was reminded of how all the great things in my post-adolescent years were credited to this one place; this profound seat of natural energy and talent where one enters with nothing and leaves like a brimming garden of knowledge just waiting to trickle its seeds onto waiting barren patches of the earth. The thought hovered in my mind for quite a while as the ring of the turn-style bell echoed in my ear……ring……ring…….
ring………….. Joey, its time to wake up! The bus will be here soon, whispered my mother. What a wonderful dream.
